


libation

by thisisthefamilybusiness



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, F/F, Grinding, Kissing, Lap Sex, Laughter During Sex, Lesbian Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Vaginal Fingering, manual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 17:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthefamilybusiness/pseuds/thisisthefamilybusiness
Summary: Goddamn, Solverson, get ahold of yourself,Agnes thinks to herself. This was supposed to be professional. There was a murder-cult after her.Well. It didn’t change the fact that Grace was one of the most attractive people Agnes has ever met, or—Then there’s the gun-calloused palm of Grace’s hand on Agnes’s cheek as Grace swiftly rolls over and straddles Agnes’s lap, grinning lazily. “I mean, if I’m misreading the situation, now’s the time to speak up.” Grace says.“No, nope, not at all,” Agnes stammers, her hands settling on Grace’s hips hesitantly.





	libation

**Author's Note:**

> welcome back 2 em's rarepair corner, enjoy your stay
> 
>  
> 
> also agnes has graying hair despite not being that old because i have graying hair at only 22 and i like to project

“Haven’t felt like this since Afghanistan.”

“That a good thing or a bad one?” Agnes grunts as she slams the door to the truck.

Grace laughs breathlessly. “Fuck if I know.” The black smudges under her eyes, intended to protect her eyes from the sun’s glare, have melted with her sweat and the dirt to streaks down her cheeks.

Agnes slams the gas and turns the truck towards the dirt path to the old Sawyer house. They could rest there for a few hours, though Agnes knew damn well neither of them would sleep until they were back at a place with more backup and the adrenaline of the fight had faded. It’s a quick drive, uneventful—no damn cultists wandering in the woods and no cars running on the path. With John out of the picture in in Holland Valley, it’s been quiet. It’s only a few minutes more before Grace is watching her back as she pops the lock and they’re stumbling into the house with mutual sighs of relief.

“You’re a hell of a spotter,” Grace says as she collapses onto the couch, tugging off her hat. “You sure you’ve never done this before?”

Agnes rubs her eyes and settles next to her easily. She sprawls her arms over the beige couch’s back with a sigh. Her feet ache in her boots, but like fuck is she going to get caught by peggies without her shoes on. She’d rather be caught naked than barefoot. She settles for propping her feet up on the dusty oak coffee table. “Been hunting since I was old enough to hold a BB gun.”

“No ex-special forces dad you haven’t told me about?”

“Fuck no. Dad was ready for a Ruby Ridge standoff before Ruby Ridge ever happened.” Agnes laughs at the memory of her father and his hyper-vigilance against the ever-ambiguous Man. “He woulda fit right in with all the preppers around here.”

Grace grins and nods, running a hand over her face, smudging her stripes even further. “What did you do before this?”

“Before I was getting sniped at by peggies? Jack shit, aside from yelling at high school kids to stop smoking in parking lots. Ain’t like anything happens out here and I’m only a junior deputy,” Agnes says. “Before that, I was one of the finest park wardens in Montana.”   

“No shit? Why’d you quit?”

“Midlife crisis.” Agnes closes her eyes and feels some of the near-permanent tension in her muscles bleed out a little bit. “Fuck, partially because of the goddamn Seeds. Before they were this big, I’d have to keep kicking them off park property for doing weird shit and hunting without licenses. You get tired of seeing ‘sinner’ spraypainted on the hood of your truck.”

“Destroying them would be a hell of a revenge for that,” Grace laughs, and Agnes feels something inside of her melt a little. _Goddamn, Solverson, get ahold of yourself_ , she thinks to herself. This was supposed to be professional. There was a murder-cult after her.

Well. It didn’t change the fact that Grace was one of the most attractive people Agnes has ever met, or—

Then there’s the gun-calloused palm of Grace’s hand on Agnes’s cheek as Grace swiftly rolls over and straddles Agnes’s lap, grinning lazily. “I mean, if I’m misreading the situation, now’s the time to speak up.” Grace says.

“No, nope, not at all,” Agnes stammers, her hands settling on Grace’s hips hesitantly.

“Great.” Grace leans in until their foreheads are touching and Agnes giggles impulsively before she brushes her lips over Grace’s. It’s a soft kiss, almost painfully gentle. It’s been a damn long time since Agnes has made out with somebody, especially on a couch like they’re horny teenagers in her parents’ basement.

Grace slides her tongue along the seam of Agnes’s lips as she goes for the buttons of Agnes’s faded green-blue shirt, pushing it down to her elbows. She lets out a frustrated little laugh when her fingers brush the rough polyester of Agnes’s ballistic vest underneath her shirt as Agnes hooks her fingers into the shoulder straps of Grace’s own vest.

“Hey, let me,” Agnes mumbles, leaving the sentence unfinished. Grace nods and unsteadily scoots back on her knees, tossing her ponytail behind her back and letting Agnes fumble to undo the plastic buckles at the sides of her vest. It takes a moment of awkward wrangling but eventually Agnes gets Grace’s plate carrier undone, helping Agnes tug it over her own head before Agnes sets it on the dusty wooden floor.

Agnes peels her own button-up off and manages most of the velcro on her own vest without a problem. She has a moment where she wishes she’d anticipated this so she could have worn something nicer than a grey henley over a plain black sports bra, but how the hell was Agnes supposed to think she’d ever be exchanging open-mouthed kisses with a woman who was objectively way out of her league? So Agnes just pulls her shirt and own bra off, instead of the always-clumsy fumbling that was someone else taking off her sports bra.

Grace’s fingers are frozen on the bottom button of her camo-printed shirt when Agnes finally refocuses her attention onto her partner, which is stupidly flattering. _Don’t let it go to your head, Solverson._ Agnes slides her hand along Grace’s exposed collar bone, pushing the shirt off as Grace finally finishes unbuttoning her shirt and flings it behind her without a thought. Their kiss is a little sloppier now, a little more breathless, hungrier. Grace’s tan undershirt goes next, and Agnes manages to be smooth for long enough to undo the clasp of Grace’s bra with one hand while they’re still kissing. Grace’s bra lands somewhere on the floor; Agnes can’t be assed to pay attention when she’s got Grace in her lap. They can worry about their clothes later.

Agnes slides her lips down Grace’s jawline, scraping with the barest edge of her teeth as she feels Grace shiver above her. Grace’s hands settle with one on her shoulder and the other in the short strands of Agnes’s graying mousy brown hair, tensing as Agnes nips at the soft jut of her collarbone. She twists down to suck a bruise on the curve of Grace’s left breast, running her fingertips along Grace’s side until the woman lets out an unexpectedly shaky sigh.

Right. Fuck, it might have been just as long for Grace as it had been for Agnes, which boosted her confidence a little. She loops her hands behind Grace’s back and lets the other woman arch into her mouth, flicking her tongue against her nipple. Agnes nips softly at the delicate skin before she pulls back, much to Grace’s apparently dismay.

“If you wanna do this, we’re gonna need to...” Once again, Agnes doesn’t finish her sentence, but Grace seems to understand well enough, rolling off of Agnes’s lap with a quick nod. Grace unclasps her thigh holster as Agnes takes her own belt off. “You wanna just, uh...” Agnes flushes neon pink as she jerks her hand back and forth.

“Christ, Solverson, you’re gonna kill me,” Grace laughs as she slides back down into Agnes’s lap.

“Yeah.” Both of them have been too well trained to want to risk having to run without their boots or pants, so Agnes eases the zipper of Grace’s pants down and tugs the waistband down just to the tops of her thighs. Grace is wearing simple black underwear and it’s easy for Agnes to just run her fingertips over the soft edge along Grace’s inner thigh. Agnes brings her free hand to her lips to get them wet, but Grace flushes and tugs Agnes’s hand to her lips instead, opening her mouth and wrapping her tongue over Agnes’s knuckles.

And _there’s_ an idea for later, when they were somewhere with a bigger bed and they could take their damn shoes off. Grace huffs a laugh against Agnes’s fingers when she sees how wide the other woman’s eyes have blown out just watching her and finally pulls back. Agnes tugs Grace’s underwear down just enough to slip her fingertips along Grace’s clit.

Grace’s thighs tense and she grinds down against Agnes with a soft little sound. Agnes feels a little feverish as she rolls gentle circles right over the center of her swollen clit and Grace arches her back, pushing her breasts forward. Agnes doesn’t hesitate to take the unspoken invitation, rolling her tongue around Grace’s nipple while her fingers dip towards her entrance, thumb on Grace’s clit. That earns another little half-moan, so Agnes works her fingers a little rougher, pressing into her wetness and crooking her fingers. Grace just rides against her fingers for a long minute, mouth dropping open ever so slightly.

Grace bites her bottom lip and works her hips in tight little circles for one moment, two, before her body goes stiff and then loose-limbed, choking down a moan as she orgasms like she was afraid they’d get caught. It’s probably the hottest thing Agnes has ever seen in her life.

Grace sits fully on Agnes’s lap when Agnes pulls her hands away, settling her hands back on the curve of Grace’s hips. “Goddamn, Aggie,” Grace mumbles with a shaky laugh.

“Yeah.” Agnes just lets Grace push her sideways, so she’s sprawled out on the ugly beige couch with Grace on her knees over her. Grace slides her mouth down the curve of Agnes’s breast, pinching with one hand at a nipple to get a half-hearted grunt before she tugs Agnes’s jeans halfway down her thighs.

It’s not going to take too much to get her off, Agnes realizes, flushing. Grace grins and presses a kiss to the dip of Agnes’s belly button as her fingers pull Agnes’s underwear down. “We gotta get somewhere with a bed,” Grace whispers, and Agnes just nods, arching to make it easier for Grace to pull her labia apart and find her clit with a calloused thumb. Agnes gasps, spreading her legs as much as her pants will allow so Grace can work a little easier.

Grace gives up keeping any sort of rhythm, just pressing her thumb beside Agnes’s clit to pull back the hood while her free hand traces a lazy path from her clit to her entrance, dropping open-mouthed kisses along Agnes’s hips. It’s slow and steady, gentle enough to almost be teasing when all Agnes wants is Grace’s fingers working her clit hard and fast.

So Agnes tugs Grace’s lips back to her mouth, falling into an open-mouthed kiss as Agnes guides Grace’s hand where she wants it, a harder pressure that has Agnes gasping into their kiss. Agnes comes almost embarrassingly easily, thighs tightening around Grace’s hand under her own. All the tension bleeds out of Agnes’s body at once, letting go of Grace’s hand and half-heartedly pulling her own panties back up.

Grace wipes her fingers on the back of the couch cushion and flops onto the other end of the couch, exhaling heavily as they stare at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter.

“Christ, Solverson,” Grace chokes out between laughs, fishing for her bra on the floor as she jerks her pants back into place. “You got any more tricks I don’t know about?”

Agnes lets out a heavy breath, wishing for a cigarette even though she hadn’t smoked in years. The sunset chill has started to creep into the house, and she shivers, glancing around the room for where her own sports bra fell. “I’ll let you know if I think of any.” They should get going soon, before nightfall. There was a peggie truck that had been abandoned maybe half a mile down the road; with luck it’d have enough gas to get them to Fall’s End. Jerome probably had something new that needed to be done, or Mary May...

But there’s no sense of urgency, not even when they’ve managed to get mostly dressed again. Instead, Grace just sprawls out on top of Agnes on the couch, settling her head on Agnes’s chest.

Fall’s End can wait for a few more minutes, Agnes decides.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://www.officialclaricestarling.tumblr.com), where you can talk to me, complain about how i'm writing fanfiction for a game i still haven't finished, admire my shrine to grace armstrong, etc.


End file.
